Judge — October 22, 1921 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Man Who Always Wears His Rubbers By ALLENE R. TALMEY. A S symbols of suburban respectabil- ity, rubbers, and the man who always wears them, have no equal, for to no other class can they so patently belong. If we start from the first analysis, there are two types, those who wear rubbers, and those who do not wear rubbers. In the latter are grouped the free, untram- meled spirits, lovers of a vain Bo- hemia; in the former the suburban genus, for in. almost every man is an embryo commuter. To those with yearning souls, rubbers sig- nify only the dull weight of convention, the plodding, wearied tread of monotony. In their responsive natures a puddle, gleaming with yel- low, murky depths on a rain- swept street, awakens a de- sire to splash swiftly, not to skirt it with wary, rubber- clad feet. To those who view souls as matters of purely relig- jous concern, or else as in- dications of unstable genius, rubbers constitute a vital ne- cessity, an adjunct of every well-ordered life. A puddle means gross neglect on the part of the city’s road re- pairing department, and as such a letter to the Coun- cil. So reasons that right- eous body, slaves of the rubber, called the suburban race. The keynote of their lives can be expressed in the word well-ordered. None of that scrambled haste to do the undone deeds of yesterday exhausts them. Because it is the secret ambition of each commuter for the neighbors to set the kitchen clock by his departure for the train, all have their eggs, coffee, and toast at the same moment each day. It may mean a neck broken in the effort to insert arms into the coat, legs into the trousers and to knot a tie in thirty seconds, but breakfast is as usual. If for three years they can catch the 7:59 train with a Times to read, full recognition of their neo- phyteship comes. The con- ductor nods, treats them as equals. The man is made. Then home on the five fofty- six, dinner, pictures, and moving “for a change,” as they remark six nights a week, finishes their regulated, satisfy- ing life. On Saturdays there is golf at the club, or the lawn to mow at the roughened edges. All this makes them secure in the knowledge that the club is the finest in the county, their home the prettiest, and that their rubbers are safe in the hall closet behind their golf sticks. That is why, gradually, they are usurping the position of the farmer as the back-bone of the coun- try. Behind them, bolstering their pride, is the feeling of placid- ity, and upright respectability, all engendered by rubbers. those neat, black Drawn by James HaMMon. She—John I consider it positively incon- siderate of you to take a bath when you know very well I always give “Pommie” his tub at this time. The Moral and Militant Snickersnee By Evtas LIEBERMAN [™ was a saintly Snickersnee That stopped a movie show; “I want that kiss abridged,” said he, “Until it measures—so.” With demon glee that Snickersnee Cut down the kiss she got; Which strengthened her morality But sabotaged the plot. It chortled when the villain drank A drop of something blind; One clip—and all was soon a blank, Just like the author’s mind. “Bring on some tea,” the Snickersnee In cutting accents said; “The mildest brew will set at sea A movie villain’s head.” The Snickersnee swooped down upon A strong but hectic word; “Vocabulary pale and wan Is better,” it averred. “The ‘Damns’ must be,” said Snickersnee, “Forever damned; avoid All bellicose profanity In filming celluloid.” “No flirt, no vamp, no deadly squeeze ; No lingering embrace; No skirt that shows a maid- en’s knees; No paint upon her face That’s my decree,” clanked Snickersnee. “My shield is shears and bar; When I click past, bow down to me, For I’m the Movie Czar.” Who's Got the Button? “Do you keep up with the styles?” “Don’t know much about ‘em. I do know, however, that my wife is doing her own buttoning-up lately.” Small Town Curiosity The easiest way to become an object of suspicion is to go to a small town where you are unknown and_ attend strictly to your own business. Upright Flubb—How does he stand in his communiiy? Dubb—Pretty _ straight, since prohibition! The Gospel Truth If the reformers keep on, the only Sunday that won’t be blue will be Billy. comicbooks.com